State of the Union
by PhantomMemories
Summary: Something is off about a certain country. Will England be able to find out what it is before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

Something was wrong with America.

To start with, he hadn't said a word since the (totally top secret) world meeting had been called to order.

Germany had immediately begun the meeting with his usual efficiency, blazing through the agenda with blinding speed.

And still, America was silent, not even volunteering his opinion, even when France made a joke about one of America's airplanes that hadn't quite performed to expectations. (It had failed spectacularly, however.)

England frowned.

For a moment he'd thought he'd have to get up and separate his former charge and the frog, but America had merely given France the smallest fraction of a smile, and gone back to listening to Switzerland's explanation of the world financial situation.

The only satisfaction he could gleen from that little exchange was the look of bewilderment on France's face.

But still...

"Does anyone have anything to add?" Germany barked from the head of the table, his icy gaze seeking out the usual suspects- including the man who usually couldn't be stopped from running the meeting, let alone his mouth.

Stoney silence.

"Then this meeting is adjourned." The cold man said, gathering his papers as the room fell back into the normal babble that marked the event. Italy was chatting animatedly with- no _at_ Germany. Austria and Hungary both rose and linked arms as they headed for the doorway.

For a moment, England thought he had lost his chance to speak to America, as a tall blond followed the pair- but then he realized it was just Canada.

America was still sitting in his seat, holding his papers in both hands, as though he were holding it at the proper angle to read- except for the way his head was tilted up, sky-blue eyes unfocused as he gazed out the window.

England felt his brows furrow. Was America daydreaming?

He rose from his chair, and attempted to make his approach casual.

"America?" England asked quietly, "Are you-"

The other country jumped, dropping his papers as he stood up quickly.

"Oh, hello, England." said America, with what could only be described as a nervous grin. _Nervous?_ "I was just getting ready to-"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing?" The answer came far too quickly. "Just getting ready for the trip home. Nothing to worry about."

Maybe that was the real reason for the quietude that had fallen upon the younger nation. England relaxed a fraction, watching his ally scoop the papers into a briefcase (Since when had America started carrying a Briefcase?) He was chattering nonsensically about music, and dancing as he did so. Maybe he was just-

Evading looking directly at England.

He put a hand on America's shoulder, not really surprised to see the flinch that was carefully and swiftly stifled.

"Gotta go!" America said suddenly, with a mild burst of enthusiasm that had been missing for the entire day. "I'm late."

It looked entirely too put on to be real.

And just like that, America slipped away from England's grasp, and fled towards the door.

"What did you do to America, England?" France had slipped up beside him. "He was not himself today."

"What the hell makes you think I did something to him?" England snapped without thinking. "You're the one who was needling him."

He didn't bother listening to France's retort, as he mentally reviewed the brief conversation. Yes, there had been something off about America- and a general sense of wrongness. England hated not knowing.

He ignored the look of surprise on France's face as he just walked away without continuing the argument.


	2. Chapter 2

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

The very act required so much of his attention, so much thought, he didn't pay attention to the direction he was walking. He only hoped that it was the correct one. He couldn't afford to stay here.

Breathe in.

Forget the blur of faces in the room he had just exited. The voice had told them that they were insignificant, and would vanish from mind, as they already had his sight. Just as soon as he...

Breathe out.

There. Gone- all of them. Now only the ghost of shadows remained- and for some reason the thought of ghost pulled at him, simultaneously frightening and fascinating.

But wasn't he was a ghost now, and ghosts since didn't need... whatever it was that had been nagging at the gap between his memories of the unimportant and the necessary, he should just focus on the here and now without the past, only the promise of what lay ahead in the future.

"... wait!" The familiar-unfamiliar voice broke into the rhythm of breathing, almost making his step hitch in its intensity. He didn't pause, however. It could only be one of the figments of imagination from the room behind him, and would be gone if he would only...

Breathe in.

"Damnit, what is going on with you?" The voice peppered him with words. "I said 'Wait for me.' that doesn't mean keep walking."

Breathe out.

"I know you can hear me-"

The voice was still there.

Puzzled, he halted in a pool of sunshine next to a huge window, only to stumble forward as something- someone ran into him from behind.

"Idiot-" the muffled voice that vibrated into his jacket buzzed of rain and gunpowder.

Off-balance.

"I know you're not _that _clumsy."

He couldn't stop the world from spinning, sending him further along that path of momentum.

"America- /Alfred/!" hands clutched at his jacket, giving him a slight advantage over gravity, preventing a meeting between his face and the floor. He found himself spun around to face the one who had both knocked him down and rescued him. "Now I KNOW something is wrong."

"You were the one who ran into me," he dug through his memory for a moment for the necessary name. "England."

The scowl that his words provoked in the shorter man was genuinely scary.

"I'm fine, man." He could feel the mild smile, knew it was wrong when the massive eyebrows scrunched, and it looked as though the other was about to start yelling again. "Boss is gonna be wicked mad if I miss my plane."

Breathing became easier now, though he knew... he knew he had to go before the gaps overwhelmed him again. Filling his no-longer hesitant lungs, he pulled his arm away from the startled looking Englishman and headed towards the beckoning doorway.

He wasn't sure if the twinge running through his chest was one of guilt at not answering someone so obviously concerned, or if it was because he was no longer being followed.

Then he exhaled, and they all vanished.


	3. Chapter 3

America was perfectly fine, just adjusting to new policy.

Bollocks.

England hadn't said that in his conversation with America's newest boss, but he'd been thinking it throughout their brief conversation. His concerns had been smoothly deflected, and turned back on himself. How was he feeling these days? After all, he was America's closest ally.

It did nothing to settle the uncomfortable wrongness of that briefest of smiles that barely made it to eyes the color of an impending storm.

How the hell had England missed seeing /that/?

_Probably because America had not been drawing attention to himself, and then avoided eye contact when confronted. _England muttered to himself as he exited the terminal, getting funny looks from the other passengers deplaning. _Because he /knew/ his eyes would give him away._

Regardless, he probably shouldn't have expected the White House to give him any straight answers, because quite frankly, he didn't trust them. Not after Poland.

And attempting to confront the personification of America over the phone would have had even less effect than stopping him in the hallway. Like some kind of superhero, America was always fine, America wasn't going to show a sign of weakness, just like a John Wayne-esque cowboy. There was nothing that was going to stop the country from keeping on keeping on...

Arthur knew better. Nearly two and a half centuries, and he could still pick out chinks and cracks in Alfred's armour. He had to- he justified to himself- before enemies found them. The younger nation might have grown up, might have learned how to put a pretty face on things (and when he tried, he really could fool people) but to Arthur, he was still the boy who hid from thunder, and the things that went bump in the night.

And that was why he had found a way to fly to the US without either boss knowing, without /Alfred/ knowing. Why he was currently driving (on the wrong side of the road, bloody Yanks) to the place that Arthur knew that his young friend would be- his Virginia home.

He had memorized the way, though he'd only been there a few times. Pulling to the kerb, he parked, and paused for a moment, looking at the house.

Was he really doing the right thing by coming here? Alfred's boss had been so certain-

"Bollocks." Arthur said aloud, remembering the quiet smile, the refusal to respond to a subject that should have at least had the young man defending himself. He exited the car quickly, and strode along the path swiftly, before the doubts had time to change his mind.

Voices flew out at him. Alfred apparently already had company.

England's hand paused, just short of knocking.

"Shut up. Just- I can't believe that you're listening to him." a female voice, thick as honey accent dripping through the thin wood. "You're such an-"

"Ah, cherie, calm down." That bastard Frog- no. The voice was familiar, but not the accent. "He's doin' his job, ma belle."

"His job, huh?" The female voice answered, "Then why are things only getting worse- You of all people should know what comes of trusting-"

"You're just scared." Male voice again. He said something incomprehensible that Arthur couldn't define as being distinctly English, or French.

"Speak human, Louis." The woman laughed. "I'm no more scared than you are. Than he is. As much as I like having my voice, this is something that can't be let go."

Arthur's hand fell. The voices both were-

"There's someone here. I see a car, and a shadow" There was a murmur, almost too low to hear, "Go send them away."

Light footsteps approached the door, and before Arthur had a chance to back away, the door was flung open.

He stepped backwards in confusion.

"Yes?" said the delicate looking brunette, violet eyes snapping with curiosity and determination. His height, and a peaches and cream complexion. "What are you selling, hon? 'Cos I ain't really..."

The voice trailed off, as she waited expectantly.

"I..." Arthur floundered uncertainly, looking desperately. "I must have the wrong house."

But through the open doorway he could see America's jacket carelessly flung over the bannister.


	4. Chapter 4

Violet eyes studied him for a moment- a flicker of recognition passed over her face, curving sultry lips into a faint smile.

"No, you're in the right place." she almost purred. There was something familiar about the way she looked at him. An expression of hidden amusement.

"Where is Alfred?"

"He's not in right now, England." The words were softer, "You've come a long way, sugar- wish you'd called ahead."

"When will he be back?" Shock ran down his spine, as the name registered. It sent his eyebrows flying into his hairline. "How did you know?"

"He... speaks of you often." She stepped forward, one graceful hand brushing his cheek, sending a very different kind of tingle through the touch. "Come inside. You must be tuckered out from that long trip."

"Do I... know you?" Arthur found himself murmuring, as the hand fell to his arm, gently tugging him inside. "I'm sorry. I thought I'd met all the nations."

"Not yet, you haven't. Who knows what the future will bring, with politics and technology being what they are." A somewhat odd evasion of the question. "You can call me Gia."  
"Well then, Gia," England was drawn into the cluttered living area. It was a mess as usual. Empty pop cans and clothing littering the floor. It hadn't been cleaned for company- and somehow Alfred trusted strangers in his home while he was out. Not terribly odd on the trust- no matter how old he was, the boy was still naive as hell."Where is Louis? And just how long have you known America?"

"Louis?" The perfect pink lips curved into a slight frown. "I-"

"I heard the two of you talking."

"Oh!" A bright smile, "I had the television on. It gets boring here sometimes, especially late in the afternoon. And I've known Alfred for ages."

Lying. There was something about that bright smile that reminded Arthur of times when Alfred had been telling a hastily constructed lie. She was lying about Louis- but why?

"Sit down. I'll make some tea, and you can have a nap. I'm not sure when he'll be back..."

"Where is Alfred?" England asked, letting himself be steered to the comfortable sofa. "Meeting with the boss?"

"I-" Gia's shoulders had stiffened slightly under her loose fitting shirt, as though something that Arthur had said had struck her. "I'm not sure. Just wait here, I'll get the tea."

The brilliant smile had returned, as the girl nearly skipped off to the kitchen, leaving England alone.

First Alfred had been acting strange at the meeting, and then his eyes... Or maybe it had shifted before the meeting, and England just hadn't noticed. Now this. If it had been human friends, he would have been less alarmed, but it was unknown powers. Nations.

Eyes skimmed the room, noting the games tossed around. A can of the pop that Alfred liked, beads of moisture on the outside. Arthur frowned, noting two brown bottles next to it. Prescriptions, it looked like. Odd. Nations usually didn't- just beyond the bottles, the last hint of sunlight bounced uncomfortably off of a pair of glasses.

Texas.

His heart sank. There was no way that Alfred would have left both his battered bomber _and_ his glasses behind. Gia had something to do with it, and Arthur had to find out exactly what that was-

He picked up the glasses, hand brushing the side of a still-cold pop can.

"There's not much tea here, but I think you'll like this- two sugars, right?" Gia was returning already, a familiar teacup in hand. She stopped when he didn't answer.

"Gia, where is he, really?" England asked with a calmness he didn't quite feel.

She stared at the glasses in his hand with an expression that was closest to Alfred's 'Oh shit' look that Arthur remembered well from his young years.

"Safe." She finally said, conflict on her face settling down to a pleasant smile, the teacup made a delicate chime as she placed it on a table well within his reach. "He's... safe. You can trust me."

"Without his glasses, he can't-"

"He's fine," The young woman hitched up the baggy bluejeans, and sat next to him. Close. Very close, one hand reaching over to run fingers through his hair, and along his cheek. Did all Americans dress in such a careless fashion? But then this woman wasn't- "I care about him- probably as much as you do."

"Gia..." Dark hair, smooth skin, and violet eyes filled his vision. And that smile. That sweet, hesitant smile. "Who are you, really?"

"No one of consequence." She put one slender finger to his lips. "I won't hurt you. I won't hurt him. You're exhausted. You should relax more."

"But-" She replaced the finger with her lips, barely brushing them against his. Arthur's breath hitched for a moment, rendering him speechless.

"Sleep. When you wake up, I'm sure he'll be back." Gia gently pushed him down to a prone position.

She was, he realized, stronger than she looked.

And Gia was also correct. He was more than tired.

His last thoughts before succumbing to the international jet lag were of the tea, and the warm weight curling up next to him on the sofa.


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred was swimming inside himself, floating freely, while things he knew he should care about passed him by without comment.

At least it was better than the soul-deep pain that had been plaguing him for so long.

_ Focus, Alfred._

He couldn't.

Memories floated by in his mind's eye; happier times. Shooting lessons, picnics in the tall grass under a shady tree. A shadow watching over him while he played with his animal friends.

A gentle hand brushing his bangs back away from his forehead, as he, too drowsy to sleep, listened to the sound of the rain against the roof.

Rain.

He hated rain, because... why was that?

_Did you take your medication?_

The question flew by him, and he almost recognized the voice. Almost. It was one of authority, he knew it just as well as the answer to the question.

_Yes._

_Good, America. Everything will keep getting better if you keep up with it._

Of course it would- he had to trust the voice, even though it wasn't the one that kept coming to mind, the one associated with midnight terrors that sent him seeking comfort.

_Everything will be all right, America, I'm here. I will be here when you awaken._

The other voice. The one that was loving and kind- and terrifying at the same time.

Dreams taunted him, inviting him along, and yet fleeing from him.

A familiar warmth under his cheek stirred him towards waking. The familiar rhythm of a heart that soothed him to sleep when he was anxious. But that was an impossibility, because that person was so far away, and he wasn't allowed to...

Allowed to...

Not anymore. He had grown up. America was a free nation, with no formal ties to the old world.

Only handfuls of memories and immigrants who had left it all behind.

It had to be a dream- one that hadn't run away fast enough.

The sound of a sharp intake of breath pulled his reluctant eyes open, as he moved his head just enough to see startled green eyes staring back at him.

"What the hell?"


	6. Chapter 6

Why England had allowed that woman to touch him, to convince him to sleep with her body curled up close to him- he'd probably never know.

How long he'd been asleep, he wasn't certain of either. Just cognizant of the fact that the young lady who had gently kissed him, then nestled in beside him was still there- and that the world beyond his closed eyes was now light.

Gia had promised that Alfred would be back when he awakened, and it was obviously morning.

Arthur wondered what America had made of the pair curled up on the sofa, and why he hadn't awakened them.

Then he opened his eyes.

A blond head (_Gia's lovely dark curls tickled his chin, as she nestled against him-_)was resting against his shoulder, eyes closed, lashes fluttering, while long legs dangled precariously over the empty space between narrow couch and wooden coffee table.

The obvious thought that this wasn't Gia came first to his still awakening mind.

And then it hit him.

"What the hell?"

The sleeper awakened, tilting _his_ head up towards England's, bright blue eyes still foggy with sleep.

Alfred.

"America, what are you doing?" Arthur asked, noting that the boy blinked twice, then seemed to remember exactly where he was, as his face flushed, cheeks and ears reddening. England could only hope that his own face wasn't as red.

"E-england?" Beneath the embarrassment on the openly expressive face was confusion. The way the eyebrows clenched, the way the hesitant smile was almost trembling. The way he was suddenly scrambling to get away from Arthur."Why are you-"

Legs tangled, and barely balanced on the edge of the surface on which he'd been sleeping, Alfred neatly fell off the edge with a yelp, a crack, and an 'Ow... damn it..."

Great. He'd come all this way to make certain that the boy was safe and well, and now he'd gone and concussed himself on the furniture. Probably broke a leg or something.

Arthur sighed, sitting up and tucking his legs under him as he looked down to assess the damage.

"Ow. Fuck." Arm curled around his head, hand pressed against his left eye. "What the hell- Why are you even-"

"Let me see." Arthur sighed, and worked on prying the hand away from the face. The bright and dark colors were already starting to show. "You're going to have one hell of a shiner, boy. Landing on your face wasn't one of your brighter ideas."

"Fuck you," Alfred grunted, "Trying to bash out my brains on the furniture isn't on my list of things to do first thing in the morning, even if you think it's number one on my schedule."

Arthur rolled his eyes, and rose. Ice would probably help with the swelling.

"Where- are you leaving already?"There was a wavering note of pathetic loneliness in the question.

"Ice." England explained with one word, taking very little time to note the condition of the kitchen. He should probably have brought the teacup with him- it went against his notions of tidiness to just leave things laying around like that. Obviously, he'd not had much influence in that area over America.

In the short time it took him to get the ice, wrap it in a questionable towel, and get back to the living room, Alfred had picked himself up off the floor, and was looking around the room with the oddest look of confusion and trepidation on his face.

The expression cleared to a more subdued version of his usual smile as soon as Alfred realized that England had returned.

"I wasn't expecting to see you." The words leaked out, as England handed over the improvised cold pack. "You're supposed to warn me when you're coming."

"So you're the only one who can make impromptu visits?" England arched a brow, "Really, Alfred."

Alfred's chuckle was forced, and faded almost immediately, as he sat on the sofa.

"Not supposed to be here," Alfred mumbled, holding the ice to his eye. "Outside of world meetings, I'm not s'posed to be having unofficial contact with you-"

"What? Why?" England scowled. "Why me?"

"Not jus' you. Boss wants me to keep everything on a professional level with most of Europe, an' Canada."

"For fuck's sake." England growled, "Matthew's your brother. You're supposed to have unofficial contact with your family."

"Supposed to be 'cultivating a good relationship' with Iran, and a few other nations that I don't normally .."

"As much as I'd love to see you getting along with more nations, America, how does your boss expect you to cultivate anything with someone who has nearly made a religion out of hating you, and everything you stand for- and doing it without support?"

"I'm the good guy... the hero doesn't need..."

"Shut it. The hero needs support- or have you forgotten your master plans?" The flinch should have warned England. "Why are you isolating yourself?"

"... I don't know." The words where whispered in quiet lost tones that England had so rarely heard from America- more often heard from Canada- "I just … don't know anymore."

England could almost swear there were tears forming in the visible blue eye that was currently staring beyond him. Before he could formulate an uneasy response, or a plan to keep the waterworks from starting, a loud banging came from the front door.

"Shit-" Panic struck the face, "What day is today?"

"Thursday-" England frowned, wondering at the sudden fear of visitors.

"Fuck." Color drained from America's face, and the ice was dropped. It would make a mess on the carpet, no doubt- "You gotta hide. They can't know you were here-"

"Hide?" England found himself being hurtled towards the front closet, making a small protest.

"Boss sends someone to check up on me on Thursdays, and take me to a meeting- Shh."

Since when had a boss's actions made America look so frightened?

Another pounding, this one more insistent.

"Coming!" Alfred yelled, and shut the door in England's face before he could voice another protest.

Something in America's face made Arthur uneasy enough to obey the silent plea to remain quiet.

"Sorry, Sorry- overslept." America babbled as England heard him open the door. "Just let me get my jacket-"

"Do you have a visitor, Alfred?" An unfamiliar voice asked, "There's a car-"

Shit. The car.

""What?" No," Alfred's voice went flat, "Think the neighbors had a party, and parked too close- come on. Let's go. It's past time, right?"

"What happened to your face?" Another voice, slightly lighter in pitch.

"Huh? Oh... tripped." Alfred sounded almost as though he were smiling. "Got the jacket. Can we get this over with already?"

The only answers were soft, as the door to the house closed, the deadbolt clicking smoothly shut.

Arthur rested his forehead against the cool wood of the closet door. He was completely confused, and alarmed.

It wasn't that he objected to America making friends with anyone, or fostering good relationships- it was the method, and the look of raw confusion on his face before he'd fallen off the sofa. There was more to this than even England could see, and that worried him.

When he stepped back into the room that had just been vacated, that worry was doubled.

Alfred's glasses remained on the side table, where he'd seen them last night.


	7. Chapter 7

The house remained silent as England ventured forth from the room once more, intent on finding a reason- any plausible possibility about why Alfred would allow his own government to make him wary- or even, dare he think it, afraid.

What he found was dust, dust, and more dust.

The upstairs rooms hadn't been touched for a while, which meant that America had most likely been sleeping on the sofa for at least the past month. But then, no one else had been there either, as England's footprints were the only ones on the hardwood flooring of the upstairs hallway.

Those friends of Alfred's who had been here earlier were obviously not overnight guests; Or perhaps they were. Arthur could almost picture Alfred clinging to Gia like some sort of stuffed animal- not that he'd feel any jealousy about her being a replacement...

Finding himself downstairs again, England discovered an empty icebox, and equally bare cupboards. So America wasn't cooking food here- not that he often did- but the living area and rubbish bin was suspiciously devoid of wrappers from the boy's favorite fast-food establishments. And yet the sheer number of those aluminum cans littering the living room indicated that he'd been spending a bit of time there.

England sat on the edge of the sofa, and lifted one of the brown plastic bottles to actually read the labels. Perhaps he should have done this first, rather than intruded upon America's private dwelling.

The name of the drug looked like something that one might read on a menu in Germany.

He'd heard the name before, however, as a nation wasn't affected in the same ways that one of their citizens would be by such things, England honestly had no idea what this chemical concoction was, or what it did. And the labeling wasn't much help, as it only contained instructions, and America's human name on it.

Arthur read the second label, with much the same result. He knew that low doses were often ineffective, and the higher doses tended to be more of a nuisance than a help. He himself had never taken more than simple painkillers when the aches and pains became too much to ignore.

England scowled as he considered the list of people who might know- and more importantly, could be trusted. He came up with one name, someone he should have probably rung up already- considering the boys shared the longest common boarder in this world.

Matthew.

The two were neighbors and sometimes confidantes- he'd only recently found a very few of their childhood secrets, and that had been under duress.

Being the smarter of the two, Matthew might not only know what these drugs that Arthur was holding were supposed to do, but also exactly what the bloody hell was going on- and for how long. Not to mention, he might also have met Alfred's two mysterious friends. (As sweet as Gia had been, he didn't believe she'd been alone).

England picked up the phone, and guiltily forced the number to the front of his memory. (Really, he should know it by now.)

The phone was answered on the second ring.

"Al!" The normally soft voice came through loud and clear before England could speak, "It's about time! Why haven't you been returning my calls? It's been six months- where have you been? I didn't think I'd offended you, but you always take offense at the stupidest things, and I really don't know how I'm supposed to figure things out if you don't _talk_ to me- but I'm sorry, okay? I wanted to talk to you after the last meeting, but you ran out so fast- you didn't look so-"

"Matthew?" Arthur injected forcefully into the stream of words. It was stunning, sometimes, how Canada could go on. At least he had a general idea of how long things had been like this. "Slow down."

"E-England?" Canada's voice took on a note of subdued panic, "England why are you calling from Al's phone? What's happened? Is he ok? Is he hurt again- I didn't see anything in the news-"

"Matthew, I can't answer if you keep babbling," England frowned. So he hadn't been the only one to notice something amiss. That was comforting in a way. "Alfred is currently in a meeting. I'm just visiting."

"Oh," The relief in that syllable was unmistakable, "But-"

"Officially, I am still in London. This trip was... unplanned."

"Yeah," said Canada, "Al usually tells me when he's expecting you. Goes on for days about what he's got planned. At least he used to-"

"Even if it had been planned in advance this time- " England rattled the bottle in his hand, "I was concerned about his behavior in the last World Meeting."

"But he didn't do anything."

"When was the last time you saw him that passive?"

"When he was sick- that's why I've been trying to call for the past month. He just hasn't been home. With the boarders tightening, I haven't been able to visit-"

England cursed under his breath. 'Adjusting to new policies.' indeed.

"He's either not been there, or just not picking up. But he knows I get worried when the does that- I mean he's all alone now that Tony's moved to Area 51, and his whale friend migrated- "

"Canada," England asked calmly, watching the antique clock in the corner tick away the minutes past the two columns of sun-stirred dust poking through gaps in the drapes. "He hasn't been completely alone. One of his friends was here when I arrived-" At least he hoped that the concern that Gia had voiced was real. Optimism. It was like a disease. "Gia's been looking out for him a bit."

There was silence from the other end of the phone. For a moment Arthur wondered if they'd been disconnected.

"Matthew?"

"You... met Gia?" A slight tremor, hesitation. It wasn't a question, no matter Canada's inflection. "Merde."

"Is she not a friend-" Alarm tingled England's spine. And he'd fallen asleep right next to her- Fucking hope. He was lucky he hadn't gotten a knife in his back-

"Merde, Arthur. She's- I mean... She wouldn't hurt him-"

"Then why do you sound so horrified that she's been here?"

"Because if she's been there, it means Al is in trouble." Canada's frown was almost audible. "He- I promised not to tell you, England, but- was she the only one you saw?"

"She was talking with someone named Louis, however I didn't see him. And she denied it later."

"Fuck."

"Language, Matthew."

"Seriously, England, your sense of priorities leaves a lot to be desired right now. I can't get across the border, and America needs help."

"That would be why I'm here."

"You don't even know what's wrong!"

"He's been under an enormous amount of stress from a new administration and its particular view on how he should be, is being forced to spend most of his time with Nations who despise him, while being forbidden to communicate with you or Europe outside official channels." England ignored the little gasp of indignation at that. "I don't think he's sleeping well- he's been holed up in his living room for quite some time, and his diet has gone further into utter shite. There are two prescription bottles sitting on his table with names that look as though they came from one of my spellbooks."

"They're full, aren't they? The pill bottles?"

England shook one experimentally.

"No, they're almost empty. You knew about the medication?"

"Things are really fucked up, Arthur. Really bad. Where is Al right now?"

"His people sent someone to pick him up- they apparently are checking up on him to make certain he has no visitors. He seemed almost frightened-" Seemed, hell. England would have recognized that terror in America's face from a good hundred meters. "I'm hoping they bring him back soon."

"I have to make some calls, and try and make some arrangements. Call me as soon as someone gets there."

"As soon as Alfred returns, I'll call. I promise."

"You... I... Just call as soon as anyone gets there. It might not be Al- it might be Gia. Or even Louis. Hope it's not Louis, I hate trying to talk to him- Al's people won't come in without an invitation., and if- I need to go, I'll explain more when you call."

"All right then." Arthur reluctantly allowed, "When someone comes in, I'll call you."

As he hung the receiver back on its cradle, England realized that he was nearly as confused as he'd been when he called Canada. And he hadn't even gotten any answers beyond 'Yes, there is something fucked up here.'

The only thing he could do is wait.

Fortunately for America, England couldn't stand the untidiness of this room. He was just taking a swipe at one of the bookshelves, when he heard the rattle at the front door. He didn't have time to bolt for the closet, or the safety of the kitchen before someone swung the door open.

The medium sized figure that stepped in merely slammed the door behind him before stalking to the living room, mumbling something under his breath- but when he spied England, he stopped and stared.

Arthur couldn't help but return the stare.

The man was around his own height and build, messy brown hair framing a vaguely familiar face whose deep-set grey-blue eyes flickered in something resembling recognition as he took in the Nation.

Or should England have thought 'eye', as the left was bruised swollen almost completely shut.

"England?" The soft voice that niggled on the edge of familiarity asked him. "No one told me you were here."

"Who are you?"


End file.
